


that heaven's vault should crack

by Walutahanga



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Secrets, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Sibling Love, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 23:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walutahanga/pseuds/Walutahanga
Summary: When 'The Battle of the Five Armies' ends differently to canon, Kili becomes an awkward spectator to the unfolding tragedy of elvish royal secrets.Or; my attempt at resolving that rather forced love-triangle.
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 67





	that heaven's vault should crack

Tauriel has just breathed her last in Kili's arms when Thranduil comes upon them.

Kili is aware of him watching, motionless as a statue, but cannot bring himself to care as he cradles his lover in his arms. Her red hair streams over his fingers, the sparse warmth of her flesh already chilling with the snow. 

"It should have been me," he whispers against her neck. It almost had been. It _would_ have been if Tauriel had not lunged at the last moment to take his death. 

"On that you are entirely correct," the elf-king says, his voice as deep and cold as a pit of still water. "It should have been you." 

Kili swears at him in Kadzul. "Go if you have nothing useful to say!" The wind carries the distant screams of the battlefield, but Kili could care less. His world is dead in his arms. 

There are running footsteps and a tall slim figure shoves past Thranduil. 

"Tauriel!" Legolas falls to his knees beside her fallen figure, reaching for her with shaking hands. The indifferent perfection of his face is shattered as he smooths back the red hair and kisses her brow, murmuring pleas and imprecations in Elvish that Kili wishes he did not understand. "Wake up, my dearest, wake up, light of my life, wake _up_ \- "

"I'm sorry," Kili says. 

"Damn you," the prince says, and Kili thinks he addresses him, until the elf-prince raises his head to glare at his father. "Are you satisfied now?" 

The elf-king does not even blink. "I take no satisfaction in her death." 

His son sneers. "But it is not entirely an unfortunate event." 

The words must mean something because the elf-king's granite facade finally cracks ever so slightly, showing a glimmer of uncertainty. The elf-prince gathers Tauriel into his arms and carries her away.

* * *

There is no separation for the dead. Elf, man and dwarf lie dead side-by-side. When Kili finally escapes the healers, he finds the elf-prince cleaning blood and dirt from Tauriel’s face and hands. He doesn't invite Kili into the tent, but neither does he try to make him leave.

"What did you mean, a not entirely unfortunate event?" Kili finally finds courage to ask after a few minutes of silence.

The prince doesn’t answer for several moments. Then: "My father has always been of two minds about Tauriel. He has never known whether to love her or despise her for the shame she brought him." 

"Shame?" 

The prince just shakes his head and gestures wordlessly for Kili to pass him a bowl. 

Eventually Thranduil enters the tent. He's found time to change. One would never think he was in the midst of a battle. Not so much as a fleck of blood or dirt is visible on his hair or clothes. He stands there, not saying anything, and Kili wishes he would go and leave them to perform the final rites in peace.

"I loved Tauriel," Thranduil says finally, as if continuing a conversation. "I exiled her because I could not show any elf particular favour." 

"Then why not exile me?" The prince says, not looking up. “My crime was the same as hers.”

"It is not the same. You are my son." 

"Was she not your daughter?" 

Kili fumbles with a bowl, slopping water over his hands. He cannot have heard that correctly. The other elves had always addressed Tauriel as Captain in his hearing. They certainly wouldn’t have tolerated his flirting with her if she were a princess.

Yet the king stands as still as stone, as pale as if he’d been stabbed in the heart.

"I do not know what rumours you have heard - " He begins and is brutally interrupted by his son.

"Do not take me for a fool. I've known since the day you exiled her mother from court.”

The king falters. "You knew of that?"

"Who do you think covered it up." The prince slaps a cloth down. "Do you think I _cared_? Mother was gone and you were sunk in pain and grief. If you took some pleasure with another of like mind, I did not care if it kept you from fading. And I could hardly condemn you when it brought me Tauriel." 

"Why did you never say anything?"

"If you could not speak to me of my mother, then I doubt you could speak of my bastard half-sister."

"I thought... you and her... -"

"Yes, you _thought_. You couldn't just ask. And now through a not-unfortunate turn of events, you do not need to worry about the shame of a bastard on your most noble house." Legolas nearly spits the words at his father, and Kili wonders in what context he heard them spoken and how long they had rankled within his heart. 

Surprise flashes across Thranduil’s expression, then dawning horror. It’s the first expression on the king that Kili has truly believed genuine. "Legolas, those were just words. I never intended her harm–" 

"If I believed you did, I'd have stolen her away when she was a child. But you were only too glad to cast her out when you had the chance." Finally the prince looks at his father. "Leave. She has a lover and a brother to prepare her for burial. She has no need of a false father." 

"Legolas -"

"Leave, or I will take the tale of your doings straight to Lord Elrond." 

Father and son stare eye to eye for a long moment, then finally Thranduil turns, as gracefully as if it were his own decision. The tent flap falls closed behind him.

* * *

Kili eventually has to leave to check on his brother and uncle. He knows better than to tell Thorin of what he’d learned – there’s no telling what his uncle would do with such a secret – but he truly wishes he could discuss it with Fili.

He’s not entirely sure he understands the fuss. Few Dwarrow care what side of the marriage sheets they’re born on. Offspring are proof of fecundity in a woman and add value to a marriage suit. He understands why Men might not acknowledge their illegitimate offspring, but surely Elves with their low birth-rates would be less discriminating.

Fortunately Gandalf is about.

“What can I do for you, young Kili?” He says as Kili ducks in the doorway of his tent. His voice is kinder than normal, his gaze perceptive, and Kili has to suck in a breath around the tightness in his throat.

“I’m fine,” he manages. “I just – I wanted to ask you, is it true that Elves marry only once?”

Gandalf nods seriously. “They love once, and only once in their lifetime. And when those they love die, they often follow quickly after.” His hand pats Kili’s shoulder kindly. “Had you died, she might well have faded. She knew what she was doing.”

“I see.” Kili hadn’t known that. He might have been more careful if he had. Capturing the heart of an elf-maid seems less a romantic feat now and more an act of delayed murder. “So they don’t… do things outside of marriage?”

“That’s a complicated question. While Men and Darrow require certain ceremonies for marriage, Elves regard physical passion as the act of marriage.”

“Oh.” Kili’s voice is very faint. “Every time?”

“If two Elves were to lie together, even if it were only the once, they would be considered married. And by the same token, if one were to die soon after, the other would be considered a widower.”

Kili is finding out all sorts of things he hadn’t intended. He’s not sure if it helps or not. “So, they never just… lie together because they want to? For loneliness or desire?”

“There are marriages of convenience, if that’s what you mean. Though such arrangements are rare. Elves tend to be more patient about such things than Men or Dwarrow...”

“No. I mean to take lovers without long-term commitment.”

Gandalf frowns, studying Kili under his bushy eyebrows. “There are a handful of historical precedents,” he says slowly. “However it’s extremely rare and considered a sign of mental aberration.”

“And any children that come of it? Are they tainted by association?”

He’s finally managed to surprise Gandalf. “Young Kili, is there something you want to tell me?”

“No.” Kili retreats hurriedly. “I’m just curious, is all.”

* * *

The next day, Kili is helping Balin pile stone when an unfamiliar Elf approaches. He wears the colours of Mirkwood.

“Prince Kili,” he says.

“That’s me,” Kili replies, dusting off his hands. “What is it?”

Something flickers across the Elf’s bland face, too quick to be seen. “King Thranduil and his son are having a disagreement.”

“And?”

“Someone should intervene.”

It’s the most indirect, circuitous request for help Kili has ever heard. “You want _me_ to mediate with the Elvish king and his son?”

“The prince has confided in you of late. Perhaps he will listen to you.”

The Elf leads him to one of the tents. Inside, Legolas and Thaindrul are facing each other on opposite sides of a table. They are holding themselves very still, which Kili knows by now is the Elvish way of reacting to strong emotion.

“What do you want?” Thranduil bites out. “This is a private discussion, Dwarf.”

“He was Tauriel’s beloved,” Legolas says instantly, like he was waiting for the chance to disagree. “He has the right.” 

“Beloved?” Thranduil’s mouth twists in an ugly sneer. “She deluded herself. He was a novelty for her, a curiosity that would have faded in time.”

Legolas barely seems to breathe for a few moments, pupils so dilated his eyes seem black. “I yield to your superior experience in such delusions,” he says ever so mildly, and Thranduil’s hands tremble. Kili suspects that if it weren’t his son standing before him, he’d have resorted to violence.

“Look,” Kili says, trying to divert their attention from each other. “What exactly is the disagreement that Legolas thinks I should be here for, and Thranduil thinks I should not?”

Legolas doesn’t look away from his father. “The _king_,” he says, and there’s a world of contempt in those to words. “Wants to burn Tauriel’s body here. I want to return her to Mirkwood and perform the ceremonies there.”

“All our people slain in battle are being burnt here,” Thranduil says. “There is no shame in it.”

“You want to burn my sister as a common soldier!”

“_Keep your voice down. _Do you think people won’t notice if we make the exception? That they won’t question our reasons?”

“It’s not her name you’re worried about.”

“Of course not! It’s the name of our family – your name too. She would not have wanted you to risk our lineage over something as trivial as where her ashes lay. You’d know that if you weren’t intent on punishing me.”

Legolas’ lip curls, and Kili speaks up quickly before he can say something irreversible: “What about a compromise?”

Both Elves look at him reluctantly. “What did you have in mind, Dwarf?”

“I’m fairly certain, with the rumours, that everyone knows that Tauriel and I were… close, even if there was no official announcement.”

Legolas nods warily. “I would say that is correct.”

“So,” Kili says, thinking quickly. “We give her a Dwarf ceremony. An honoured one, as for high-ranking nobles. Officially it will be because she saved my life, but unofficially we’ll let it be known because we were in love and planned to marry.”

Thranduil manages to look offended. “No child of my house –”

“It’s that or admit that she _is_ a child of your house.” Kili looks at Legolas. “We’ll honour her as she deserves. I promise.”

Legolas hesitates. “She cannot be buried in cold earth.”

“We’ll adjust that part. You can take her ashes back to Mirkwood.”

“…then that would be acceptable.”

Kili looks at Thranduil, who is giving him a hateful look.

“I accept,” he grinds out like he’d prefer to stab Kili in the face. “Perform your ceremonies and tell everyone your idiotic infatuation. I’m sure it will make a filthy ballad in a tavern somewhere.”

* * *

“You seem to be talking with the Elves a great deal of late.” Once that would have been a mockery or accusation from Thorin. Now that sounds as if he’s trying to make conversation around some difficult topic.

Kili very carefully keeps his eyes on his plate, stirring soup around. “They seem to think I should have a say, with Tauriel.”

“I heard.”

“You did?”

“Gandalf told me.”

Kili regrets telling Gandalf anything at all. At least it’s made things easier to push through the funeral arrangements, though he’s already had to punch a few Dwarrow for muttering ‘elf-fucker’ in his hearing.

“I see,” he says slowly. “Are you angry?”

“No. I would have been, once. Now I just wish I could save you this pain.”

When Kili looks up, his uncle looks… weary. And yet more himself than he’s been in a very long time.

“It will pass,” Kili says. Even as he says it, he wonders if it is true.

* * *

Legolas eventually finds him on the tallest parapet, brooding over the view. He brings with him two bags of wine, one of which he tosses to Kili. 

"Trying to poison me?" Kili says.

"That would be a poor price for Tauriel's sacrifice." 

"It was a joke, elf." 

Legolas blinks at him uncertainly. "Oh." 

Kili shifts over. "Well. Take a seat." 

They sit for several minutes, lost in their own thoughts before Legolas says abruptly: "Tauriel had not much of a taste for wine. She used to grow angry at the keeper of the keys for sipping at his own stock." 

The sudden confidence takes Kili back. Yet who else is Legolas going to talk to? No one else knows what Tauriel was to him, apart from Thranduil. To the world he is grieving the loss of a friend and subordinate, not a beloved sister.

"She'd have been furious with me at our wedding then,” Kili replies. “Drinking is traditional at dwarf celebrations." 

A pause. "You did plan to marry her then?" 

"If she'd have had me.”

"She would have." Legolas looks out over the lights of the camp. "She lived with her mother for the first twelve years of her life, in a Silvan settlement on our outskirts. After an orc attack decimated the village, my father had her brought to court and fostered her in our household, hidden in plain sight as a ward of the king. I think he could have loved her better - I think he intended to - until he saw her." 

"Not a pretty child?" Kili had assumed Tauriel was attractive for her kind. But admittedly he knew nothing about elven standards of beauty. For all he knew, she was very plain. 

"Her hair..." Legolas trailed off. "I think he believed it was a mark of his shame; the Valar's punishment for his failings. So he could never look at her without seeing his own sins." 

"What did her hair have to do with it?" It was the first thing Kili had noticed about her; that deep burnished red like the heart of a furnace. His fingers had itched to touch it. He couldn't imagine what anyone would find objectionable about it. 

Legolas is silent a moment before answering carefully. “Among elves, red hair is nearly unknown. Its presence suggests a certain... lineage that we find deeply questionable."

"Bad blood.” 

"Yes."

“Ah.” Kili breathes out, understanding. If red hair suggested shameful ancestry, even if it could just as easily come from the mother's side, Tauriel's existence cast doubt not just on Thranduil's reputation, but his lineage. A blow to both his political status and his pride. How he must have resented her. 

A thought strikes Kili. "Did she know?" He asks. “That she was your –”

Legolas nods. "I took her aside when I judged her old enough and explained her parentage. I thought it best to avoid errors made in ignorance.”

Kili thinks of the ballad of Orasus, of two nobles who learned too late they were mother and son, and nods with a shudder. Familial affection from a handsome prince could all too easily be mistaken for something else by an impressionable young woman. 

“Father always worried at how close we were,” Legolas muses. “He frequently reminded me of the many reasons we could not marry – every reason except the one that truly mattered. To tell the truth, part of me hoped that if we worried him enough he would finally be honest.”

Kili snorts. “Sorry,” he apologises to Legolas’ affronted expression. “It’s really not funny. But can you imagine how he must have been sweating all these years?”

Legolas considers this, and the corner of his mouth curves in a very small smile. “I suppose it is a little amusing,” he concedes.

* * *

Tauriel’s funeral goes smoothly. It is a strange layer of secrets. An open lie over a half-truth to protect a deeper secret. Tauriel will be buried as the would-be wife of a dwarf prince, rather than an elvish princess in her own right. It doesn’t seem fair. Yet the truth would only bring shame and Kili is willing to use whatever tools he must to shield her from that, even in death.

Both Legolas and Thranduil attend with the elves that were Tauriel’s comrades and friends. Father and son do not exchange any words nor look upon each other until the time comes to receive Tauriel’s ashes. Kili expects Legolas to take them, so is surprised when Thranduil is the one to accept the urn.

“I will return her to Mirkwood,” he says, not quite looking at his son. Legolas gives the tiniest of nods.

Kili is not entirely surprised the next day, when he hears that Legolas has left camp, riding toward Rivendell. There is no word on when he plans to return to Mirkwood, if ever.

* * *

Kili is summoned, rather peremptorily, to Thranduil’s tent later that night.

“You hold a secret against my throat,” the elf-king says. “What do you demand?”

“Nothing.” 

“Do not play games. What will it take for your silence on this matter?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Kili looks upon the elf-king with dislike. He’d had centuries to embrace his daughter, if only secretly. Instead he had chosen to ignore her, and when he could do that no longer, he’d cast her out, like he could cast out his own shame.

The king’s mouth curves in a mocking smile. “You still claim to love her then? Know this, Dwarf. Had she truly loved you, she would have faded and died at your death. One way or another your precious love would have killed her.”

“I know. Gandalf told me, after the fact.”

“And would you still have pursued her, knowing that?”

Kili thinks about it. “I don’t know.” Certainly he’d have been more careful. Less rushed. But he is not certain he could have chosen _not_ to love her, and he never claimed to have any control over Tauriel’s heart. For whatever reason, despite knowing the consequences, she had chosen to love him in return.

Thranduil sneers. “This is what you call love? Greedy avarice for something far beyond your filthy grasp.” One long white finger taps the arm of his throne. “She deserved better than you.”

“She deserved far better than me,” Kili admits without shame. “But no one knows what tomorrow will bring. If I hadn’t embraced her, she might have died anyway. Or I might have died in her place. We could have died uncertain of each other, always wondering what was truly in our hearts…”

He’s not sure what he said that sets the elf-king off, but abruptly Thranduil stands and flings his cup aside, wine splashing red like blood across the rug. “Get out, and never darken my doorstep again, dwarf.” The rage on his face is enough to make Kili remember Legolas’ comments about bad blood, and whether there was some truth to it after all.

He rises to his feet and bows smoothly. “Your grace.”

When he glances back, the elf has collapsed back into his chair, staring blankly off into nothing. For just a moment, pity stirs within Kili’s chest. It is too close to the fate that Thorin had barely avoided: the ruler of a dying kingdom, mind slowly rotting from the inside out.

Yet Thorin, for all his sins, had never forgotten his family. Had he a daughter, born low or high, ugly or beautiful, he’d have cherished her as a treasure beyond price. And he has always, without fail, been as a father to Kili and Fili. He would certainly never have favoured one over the other, nor left them in ignorance of each other. 

Despite the abundance of gifts that Thranduil has been blessed with, his hands are empty. He is father to a dead daughter and an estranged son, and has no one to blame for either but himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of a pet theory of mine. While Legolas and Tauriel clearly care very deeply for each other, there's not much on screen to clearly suggest that love is romantic, other than Thranduil's dire warnings that they cannot/should not marry. So what if Thranduil was wrong? What if it was love, just a very different kind of love?
> 
> The title comes from King Lear, when the titular character is mourning the daughter he rejected. The full quote is: "Had I your tongues and eyes I'd use them so that heavens' vault should crack - she's gone forever."


End file.
